The House That Built Me
by heartorbrain
Summary: Inspired by the songs, "The House That Built Me," by Miranda Lambert; and "Breakeven," by The Script. Further Summary inside. Please read.
1. Chapter 1

**Status: New here, please don't hurt me. lol  
Title: ****The House That Built Me  
Rating: T/PG-13  
Warnings: Flashbacks to child abuse and lots of angst  
(nothing you wouldn't already see on the show)  
Pairings: B&B eventually, Hodgela eventually**

**Summary: In the wake of Bones turning him down, Booth gets the shock of his life - his father has died. He had once believed he was numb to anything that happened to the man, but is that true? And he learns that sometimes the hardest thing to do, is face the truth. The truth being well kept secrets, and a basketfull of regrets. How will Booth cope when his world falls apart?  
This story is un-betaed. If there are mistakes, they are mine.**

**Chapter 1**

A heavy door slammed as a stream of profanities and other angry noises greeted a cold and empty apartment. Stumbling in fury, the owner of this slightly oppressive place did everything but spit on his beat up hardwood floor, while making his way to his tiny kitchen. Throwing open his refrigerator door, letting the light from the inside brighten the otherwise darkened room, the first thing he grabbed was a beer and the second his day-old take-out. When he felt more than heard that door slam as well, he continued with his colorful curses and muttered angry noises before practically throwing the take-out in his microwave. He smirked when even that door closed with a resounding _"whack"_ – uncaring that he may be disrupting his neighbors. They could all go to hell tonight, for all he cared. For once he was concerned for strictly himself.

It wasn't until he had his beer opened and at least half of it chugged that he finally calmed down enough to reassess what had happened not one hour ago. Had he really just come – no – charged out of that office, looking for all intents and purposes a man ready to kill someone? Was that really him? Surely not. Surely this had all been a dream that in a few minutes he would wake up from and everything would be fine. When the microwave beeped its chorus, an overhanging sense of dread – the very same he had nearly perfected hiding since that morning – settled between his shoulders.

As if on auto-pilot, he went through the motions of taking out his food (still cool to the touch, not that he noticed), placing it on his small second-hand table where he left extra chopsticks from the night before laying (Bones was supposed to meet him, she canceled because "work" had to be done – did she think he was born yesterday?), lifting food to mouth (valiantly aiming it correctly, considering he was too busy looking at the hypnotic display of passing headlights on the road beneath), and finally giving up on the false pretense of being hungry and dropping his cold and slightly shaking hand back to the table. He was a lot of things at that moment, but hungry wasn't one of them.

Sighing loudly and rubbing his eyes, he tried to start processing his argument while shifting further down in his second-hand high-backed barstool he used for a table chair. With a shake of his head he realized, that no, he wasn't processing anything. He was trying to prove to himself he was right. And he was! The decision was his, and it would remain his. No one else's – just his and his alone. He didn't want to think rationally, he wanted to be angry at everyone for putting him in this place of having to decide in the first place.

_*"…it is absolutely imperative that you go for your own benefit, Booth." Sweets calmly stated, legs crossed in his usual fashion, making Booth even angrier that the topic was still being discussed and that a kid was deciding what was good for him. He had no right, and with every passing second he was beginning to think Bones didn't either. _

"_For the benefit of what exactly, Sweets? Huh? What am I going to gain?" he nearly snarled._

"_Booth calm down." Bones softly placated and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. _

_He turned his eyes to her. "I'm not going to calm down, Bones!"_

_She was about to speak when Sweets cut in, "Agent Booth, if I could please explain my opinion here…"_

"_No," he growled and pushed to stand up, making Bones' hand let go. "No, I don't want your opinion, Sweets. You don't have a right to one." He glanced back at Bones making sure she was hearing as well. "It is MY decision," he said with great emphasis. "NOT yours!"_

"_But…" He cut Bones off with, "Stay the hell away from me right now, Bones. I need some time to think alone."* _

Because it wasn't a decision, it was finality. He wasn't going anywhere, end of story. And even if he was tempted, the finality still stood. He couldn't and wouldn't open that can of worms again; he was fine where he was. Didn't make millions, but he was slightly more than just comfortable. Didn't have a wife, but then again, didn't have time for one either. Didn't have a lot of vacation time, but then again, didn't need it – his work was rewarding and he loved it. His life wasn't perfect, he risked his ass every day, but it wasn't horrible either. It was fine, everything was fine.

After that last thought, the cool darkness of the apartment began to drift around; creating a heavy blanket of memories and regrets. It crawled up his long arms, scratched along his back, before clasping the base of his spine in a tight hold of misery. He shuddered, willing that feeling away. But the feeling continued to grow. It settled in his heart, and for the first time in a long time he was aware of just how alone he was. The beer and cold take-out doing nothing to assuage his wishes for a real place to call home. His apartment wasn't home. It was a small box filled with pictures of happy people that have wheedled their way past his armor that he used as shield to the truth.

The truth that he was lonely.

He stood up with his now almost finished beer, and wandered into his tiny living room, taking another long swig. Deftly stepping past his worn couch, he stopped in front of his mantle that held many of these aforementioned pictures – half smiling as he imagined what each frame held since he could catch the shine of the metals surrounding his pictures from the moonlight. In many ways he felt like a goldfish. Staring at people, wishing to be a part of their laughter, wishing to share in their joy…but stick in a bowl.

He wanted so much more than that. Hell, he knew he was worth more than that. But in the confines of his fish bowl it was so much harder than he had thought it would be at eighteen when he tasted the first servings of freedom. The plan had been simple. He would join the military, they would pay for his college, he'd get honors and awards for his outstanding commitment to his country, he would settle down with a beautiful wife and have kids of his own, he would be the perfect dad and they would love him, and he would have a great and respectable job, and…

He shakes his head. Everything, including your thirty-year plan, always looks better when your eighteen, naïve, and stupid in all the ways that count.

Now, he didn't really know what was left. He certainly never thought about what he was going to do if…well _if. _It just had never come into his cards. Because like he said before, it wasn't a decision. It was finality. He wouldn't go home to where he grew up (and he uses _grew up _loosely) just to remember all of the things he wants to forget. He just wouldn't do it. None of it mattered anymore.

Right?

As if on cue, his house phone rang and his sigh was so gloomy he swore he saw a shadow come out of his mouth. He quickly moved back into his kitchen, throwing the bottle in the stand-up trash can along the way, and picked the cordless offender up and out of its cradle. Sometimes he swore technology was created just to torture him.

"This is Booth." He answered with a well hidden growl. If this was…

"Booth?" the all too familiar female voice asked. He didn't miss the sultry undertones her voice naturally had, although it didn't soothe him like it usually would. "It's Bones. I…" she sounded hesitant, "I wasn't sure you would pick up."

He rubbed his eyes and released another sigh, that same weight around his body coming back full force. He couldn't deal with this right now. He had things he needed to think about. "Have you given me a reason to?" Sarcastic anger Booth was well aware went over her head, but he just couldn't help himself.

"I-I don't understand the question?" Of course you don't. He rolled his eyes.

"Never mind, Bones, just never mind." He huffed. "Was there something you needed? Because I said all that needed to be said in Sweets' office."

There was a pause. "I don't think you are looking at this clearly, Booth. I think you are upset and…"

He laughed bitterly while sitting back at his table. "Yeah, Bones, I am upset. Mostly at you."

He heard her sigh. "Booth, I am _not _betraying you just because I think Sweets is right. You have to go…"

"I don't have to go anywhere, Temperance." He growled dangerously and swallowed his apology at the horrified gasp he received. Taking a breath, he tried again. "It's not my fault the old bastard finally croaked."

"Nobody said it was, Booth." She reasoned softly, still reeling from his earlier tone of voice.

"No, you're right there. You and your buddy Sweets actually didn't say that. But that doesn't change _my _decision. I'm not going to his goddamned funeral, because as far I'm concerned he's been dead to me for twenty-eight years!"

He was panting, forcing his eyes to stay angry and not well up. This shouldn't matter, he was over the pain. He didn't care about what happened to that guy. He was mad at Bones for not siding with him when he needed her too. He was mad at Sweets for continuing to push when he knew Booth couldn't give anymore than he tried to already. There were so many thoughts running through his head he barely caught Bones' soft admittance. "My parents were dead to me too, you know." He closed his mouth on his next angry words, hating that she was right. "Wasn't it you that helped me find out what actually happened? Wasn't it you that helped me forgive my dad? And mother, actually. Why are you allowed to store it all away somewhere and I wasn't? Wouldn't that be considered a double standard?" He could feel the biting tone nipping at his ear and his heart.

"There's a difference here." He countered, resolve wavering. "I know what happened. He beat me unconscious for the billionth time, and took off. Never saw him again. Mom called Pops, and he took us home to Pittsburg. There isn't any grey area, Bones." She made a slight noise of protest against his words, like she was going to correct him, but then shut up. He briefly wondered what that was about, but shook his head. "I'm not looking for answers and never have been. Got 'em beaten into my skull every third night, thank you. I don't require any more explanations."

She stayed quiet which suited him just fine. He should hang up anyway. There was no way she was convincing him Sweets was right. Their situations were not the same. Her father was a bank robber on the run to protect his family. His father was an abusive, alcoholic bastard; that walked out after…after…well just after.

They didn't speak for several minutes. He finally allowed a single tear to fall and told her the truth while wiping it away. "I'm afraid of going home, Bones." He sniffled. "I don't want to remember what happened. It's too frickian painful. Home…" He trailed off, not usre where he was going with that thought. Home? Where was home?

Her own watery voice soothingly said, "It was painful for me too, Booth. You helped me, I can help you. Isn't that what partners do?"

Quietly still observing the passing traffic and thinking, he nodded before uttering, "Yeah, I guess it is."

A few more minutes passed, Booth lost to a view he was using as a distraction from memories, Bones trying to figure what to say next. Finally, "I already spoke with Andrew, Booth. You have two weeks paid leave."

He squeezed his eyes closed when she said Andrew and only nodded, waiting for her to continue, not strong enough to fight anymore or really even speak.

"I…" she was back to sounding hesitant, "I have taken two weeks as well…" his face twisted even more as well as his gut. If she had taken two weeks leave, she had to clear it with Cam, which meant everyone knew his business now. Perfect. "So we could go together." A pause. "I mean, if you want me to go. I can see how that would be taken as presumptuous of me, but I just reasoned that…well that you would do the same for me and I…" he heard a sniffle, "I am really worried about you going alone…as irrational as that may be. I'm sure you will be fine, but…"

A genuine start of a smile appeared on his face as he cut her off. "I would like you to go, Bones."

"Good," she breathed. "That's, uh, good. Well, um," he almost asked where Bones was when he realized she was actually floundering for words. He had never seen, or heard as the case may be, her so nervous. "Should we go tomorrow? Is that too soon? Oh, and then there's Jared…"

"Jared's already there." He almost spit, anger of a different kind coming back. "The police told me he was the one to identify him. The coroner said Dad got hit by a car while…while _drunk_." He faltered and swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "The driver has been charged with accidental vehicular manslaughter, but they don't know how well it'll hold up in court considering the state he was in."

"I see." He was grateful she didn't say 'I'm sorry.' "How did Jared know about him before you?"

He gritted his teeth. "He had Jared's number in his wallet and no other identification. They called the number to see if it would give them any leads."

_*"Booth?" He answered his desk phone earlier that morning, before throwing his legs up on his desk in a bored fashion._

"_Agent Booth?"A male and tense sounding voice came through the line._

"_Yes, how can I help you?"He picked up his stress ball and squeezed it a couple of times, balancing the phone underneath his ear._

"_My name is John Dowel from the Philadelphia Police Department, and I have some very unfortunate news for you, sir."_

_Momentarily stunned, he paused mid-squeeze and sat up a little straighter, "Okay, what unfortunate news?"_

"_Your father died three nights ago outside of a convenient store." The words were like a bucket of freezing cold water dumped on your head while in the middle of the Sahara Desert. It was a complete shock to his system. And before he could process his feelings on it, the Police Officer continued. "He was hit by a Camry at two-thirty in the morning. The coroner has told us his blood alcohol level was more than triple the legal limit. I am very sorry for your loss."_

_Recovering from his brief state of astounded silence, he barked, "Wait, how the hell do you know it's my dad?"_

"_We, umm," he stuttered, obviously afraid of his tone, "we found a number in his wallet. It turned out to be your brother Jared's and he came to identify him."_

"_Jared?" He breathed in disbelief. Again he was stunned. "J-Jared claimed him?" Where in the hell was all of this coming from? "H-How, I mean, Jared was only four when Dad walked out…it's impossible Jared would know what our father looks like and…and…"_

"_Agent Booth, if you are uncertain of it actually being your father, we can hold up processing until you arrive. We could also perform a DNA test, but they can get expensive…"_

"_NO!" he almost shouted. "No," he recovered. "I…I don't think I'll be coming to the station to confirm whether or not it's my dad."_

"_You…" John sounded confused. "You won't? But you just said that…"_

"_Yeah, I know, but…I just won't. Go ahead and process it."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Yes, but…"_

"_But what?"_

"_Why wasn't Jared the one to call me? Did he ask you to do this?"_

"_He said he didn't want there to be any bigger of a rift between the two of you. And since he refused, I have no choice but to let you know. It's my job."_

"_I understand. Thank you, Mr. Dowel." The phone dropped back into the cradle like an elephant would into a lake.*_

"Jared." She made a noise of contemplation. "But then why didn't…"

"Why didn't he call me?" He snorted and shook his head. "I don't know."

"Maybe he was afraid of your reaction to your father passing away." She offered, and Booth heard the sound of shuffling as if she was moving around on the other end of the line.

He stood up and began walking out of the kitchen. "More like afraid of my reaction to why Dad had his number, but who's being specific?"

"I do find that fact very peculiar. I mean, he was certainly old enough to remember at least some of what went on when you both lived with him. Surely those memories would trigger at least some sense of…"

"…not-wanting-to-ever-see-him-again-under-any-circumstances-whatsoever-for-as-long-as-thou-shall-live-and-breathe? Yeah, I would think so too, but then again, this is Jared. He always has his own agenda."

He heard her bitterly laugh. "Yeah, that I am well aware of."

They bother grew quiet again. "Well, what are you going to do about the driver? Do you think it was an accident, or deliberate?" Brennan finally asked.

"I don't know why it would be deliberate unless he got himself into some serious shit to pay off a debt or something." He released a long breath. "If that's the case, then job well done." He huffed in annoyance at the pain in his head not being eased from the low buzz of the alcohol in his system. "I'm sure you can understand why I don't feel very vengeful on his behalf."

"Booth," she warned.

"Don't start, Bones." He sighed and switched on the light sitting on his end table. "If he got himself popped off for something stupid, I'm not getting involved. It's not my problem and there would have been a cold day in hell, before he would have done anything like that for me." His voice was cold with acrimony.

"Doing the right thing is more important than vendettas, Booth." She chided softly.

"The right thing is irrelevant anymore, Bones. My family history is far too screwy to go to that much trouble." He sat down on the edge of his sofa and scowled at the scuffs on his dress shoes, kicking them off with a sound of irritation.

"Fine, I'm not going to fight with you over it." She sounded touchy.

"Look, Bones," Booth sighed. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry, when I'm not. If Dad stepped into it big time – whatever, I don't care. If I'm gonna be forced into going home and saying my final goodbye's, I am going to do it my way."

There was a huff, "Someone once told me, Booth, there are two sides to every story."

He closed his eyes and gulped down the tears choking his vision. Softly he replied, "Well then in my case, I guess I'll only ever hear the one, huh?"

Bones sighed long and he could hear her calculating her next words carefully. "Booth…Seeley…" he squeezed his eyes when she said his first name, "…get some rest. We'll talk more in the morning. I'll be packed and ready for the drive by seven-thirty."

He cleared his throat, pushing back his emotions. "Yeah, that's fine. It's gonna take about three hours to get there, so let's just grab breakfast on the way, if that's alright. I'd like to just get there and get back as quickly as possible."

"That's fine. Go lay down." He heard her add as an afterthought, "Oh, and no more beer. I don't want a hangover to deal with." He rolled his eyes. "And sleep in your _actual_ bed, Booth, not on your couch. Remember? Your back." She warned.

He chuckled for what like the first time in ages. "Yes, mom. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Yeah, tomorrow. Goodnight."

He paused his reply, savoring the concern he heard glittering her voice. "Goodnight Temperance." And with that he hung up.

Staring at the cordless phone he let it slip from his fingers, watching as it clattered to the floor. The tears were back full force, and he decided that if just for tonight he would indulge in letting them go. His dad was dead. He didn't think he truly cared, until Bones talked to him. Or maybe he did and he was just an expert at lying to himself. Maybe both.

He grabbed a throw pillow and curled into a ball on his side on the couch. His tears fell like heavy buckets of rain water, and for the first time in too long of time, he actually wished he had a dad to make it better again. But unfortunately for this lost boy, he knew he was all alone.

Nightmares plagued his dreams that night. It was non-stop. Every time he closed his eyes he didn't see the blackness, he saw his father's cold, angry eyes glaring at him. Challenging him. Taunting him. He couldn't escape. Suddenly, instead of being the thirty-eight year old man he believed himself to be, he was five years old again and balling his eyes out because he just saw his daddy break a beer bottle over the top his mother's head.

He couldn't deal with it anymore. He hadn't had these sorts of dreams since after he enlisted. Probably because the army gave him a whole other set of scary things to dream about, but that was irrelevant. He felt himself slipping, slowly. Slipping back into the mind game his father used to play, and it terrified him. He was dead, he shouldn't be allowed to hold this influence over him anymore. He was a man. A man with a purpose.

And yet, he nearly growled at himself when unconsciously he flinched before looking in the mirror like he used to do the morning after a particularly bad go-round to survey the damage. Damn it, why was he allowing that bastard to win?

His phone rang, disturbing his increasingly dark thoughts while glowering at his reflection in the mirror. Walking around the pile of clothes he left in the floor the night before from lack of will to do anything but fall into oblivion, he made his way cell phone plugged into the charger on his nightstand. He flipped it open on auto-pilot, and didn't bother to look at the caller ID.

"Booth?" he breathed, not really even having the energy to engage something like conversation.

"Hey, Booth. It's me, listen…" the familiar, male voice started but was cut off by Booth's bark of disbelief.

"Hodgins?" he glanced at the clock. "Why the hell are you calling me at six thirty in the freaking morning?"

"Good morning to you too." Came the sardonic reply.

"Sorry." Booth calmed and sat on the edge of his bed. "And hey, it's not like you opened up with 'good morning'." He grumbled just realizing he had been duped into saying an unwarranted apology.

"Details-schmetails. Listen, I hear you and Brennan are going to the great city where the words Philly, steak, cheese, and sandwich were first used in the English language to descriptively name two pieces of bread, rib eye steak, and provolone cheese."

"Yeah, so?" Booth again grumbled while frowning at Hodgin's blatant disrespect to his home town.

There was a sigh. "Well to make a painful story short, I'm coming with you."

"The hell you are!" He protested vehemently.

"Oh, and Angela too." Jack added as an after-thought, sounding completely unconcerned to Booth's denial…maybe even slightly bored.

Booth gaped at the air and then shut his mouth.

"Yeah, not much of a choice here, my poor, pathetic, government brainwashed compadre."

"What?" He shook himself out of his stupor.

"Cam's orders. Can't get out of it. Believe me – tried. In many creative ways too." Booth bristled at himself when he felt a stab of wounded pride hearing the other man had been practically desperate to get away from him. He shook the weird thought away when he realized Hodgins had continued droning on. "…and then after the begging didn't work, I promised I wouldn't defy her orders and do an experiment after she's said no already, for at least a week. To which she replied…"

"Yeah, that's great Hodge. Fascinating how much you hate me, really. But why did she pick _you_? No, in fact, why is she picking _anybody_ at all? I don't need any damn baby sitters, and certainly not one shaped like you or!"

"Because, she believes it would do you some good to have friends there with you, and since she can't go due to several board meetings coming up…" he trailed off.

"She volunteered you and Angela." Booth growled while finishing Hodgins' sentence. He crossed his arms – phone balanced on his shoulder – and stomped over to his dresser. "Great. Wonderful." He mumbled. "Why don't we just humiliate me a little bit more then?" He pulled open a drawer and began looking for a pair of socks that would match his mood.

"Hey, this isn't about humiliating you, big guy…" Booth scoffed as he pulled out a pair black socks with storm clouds and raindrops stitched into it, when Jack stopped. "Okay, maybe not about _completely _humiliating you." Booth grunted in agreement as if to say 'That's more like it.' "Angela wanted to come anyway. You know how she is. All cuddly teddy bears and butterflies when people she loves are hurting."

"Who says I'm hurting?" Seeley snaps dangerously.

"Jeez, dude. Calm down alright? Get a grip." Jack quiets while Booth sighs knowing (and hating) the fact that he's right. "You know, it is okay to say you are…if only a little bit."

Booth sits down on the edge of his bed and fiddles with the socks in his hands. He decides to evade that line of inquiry. "You don't have to come, Hodge. Neither does Ange, okay? Really even Bones, if it's putting you guys out. I'll be fine. Gone four days at the max."

"Dude, listen," he hears a sigh. "I may pretend to hate your guts and whatever, but the truth is I don't." A beat. "And that's kinda why I pretend to hate your guts. Without even knowing it, you're kinda like me. I…" he pauses a second, "I'm alone too, you know. No family to speak of besides distant, greedy cousins. My dad was never around, always at a frickian business meeting or other such rot…but that's beside the point. The point is I do get it." A beat. "Okay well maybe not _all _of it, but enough. So…don't shut Ange and me out okay? Believe it or not, we are your friends and we do care about you."

Booth closes his eyes. "I need to get dressed." He hangs up, effectively ending anymore discussion.

Okay Chappie 1 and done! Please review and tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank You!~ **Krimz** and **Charliewise **(for reviewing me ;-)  
Thank You!~ **Kittychinchillakat **and **ohgirl14** (for fave-ing me ;-)  
Thank You!~ **Charliewise, JumbledIdeas, Krimz, kristylee84, lorifer, LukeNlorelaifan, millerdobey, Pegboard, penguins4869**, and **SmallTuna **(for putting me on your alets ;-)  
I appreciate all of it, thank you!  
**Notes: **This chapter proved hard for me to write these past couple of days. Don't know why exactly. I guess it's because I have so many big plans later, I'm kinda anxious to get there. lol The centered words are the chorus for the song, "Airplanes," by B.o.B. featuring Haley Williams from Paramore. Great song, check it out. It was basically the anthem for this chapter. Especially that chorus. So yeah. **Krimz **don't worry, this story is angst central. And I completely agree with you. ;-)  
**Warnings**: Same as before. Lots of angst, referances to chlid abuse, language, eventual violence  
(nothing you wouldn't already see on the show)  
Words: 3,700

Ask yourself, "Is 3,700 words worth the few minutes it takes to write my opinion?" Yes, I do believe it is. So please, write a review! I draw a lot of inspiration off of people's thoughts. Thank you, again.

**Chapter 2**

He had forgotten how big, yet so small Philly always felt. The signs of family owned and operated delis, butchers, and other Mom and Pop type diners flooded his view and gave him a big sense of nostalgia, as he sat at a red light. Booth felt almost guilty that he had practically turned his back on the homey air that surrounded the city through the smog. He watched the groups of teenagers fooling around on skateboards in between families smiling, completely oblivious to his own turmoil, with not a care in the world and couldn't help but give a sad smile.

Too many times could he remember wishing the way his friends interacted with their parents was the way he interacted with his. Now was no different. The drive had been long and hard. Well, for him at least. Hodgins and Angela had decided to take another car, leaving him alone with Bones. He was grateful that Angela had pushed that, somehow channeling her psychic powers of just getting people and knowing what they need; and what he needed was Bones. Not that he would come out and say that. Not after rejecting him like she did.

He bites back a bitter bark of laughter. In a dark place inside he hears that small voice asking him what he had expected to be different. Everyone always beats him down; it should have been just expected. But Bones had proved she was unlike anybody else. She had believed in him when no one else would, built up his confidence. Where had he read it wrong?

"Booth it's green." Bones whispered, breaking their near two hour silence.

His head jerked to the light and let his foot off the brake. As they drove along further, Booth finally noticed song on the radio.

"Can we pretend that airplanes

In the night sky

Are like shooting stars

I could really use a wish right now

Wish right now

Wish right now

Can we pretend that airplanes

In the night sky

Are like shooting stars

I could really use a wish right now

Wish right now

Wish right now"

_So can I, _he think to himself.

_*The blueness of the sky had sickened him. It should have been dark outside. Black. Dark grey. It really didn't matter, just anything but what it was. A sudden chill crept up his spine at the realization that today was really his last day here. He turns his coltish, ten year-old body around to the barren house that holds so many different (albeit many sad and scary) memories of his. _

_You could say the house was simple enough. Certainly nothing extraordinary to the naked eye. But Seeley knew different, and oh how he wishes it wasn't so. He wishes he didn't know that every salmon colored brick, that every drop of concrete, that every shingle, wasn't all a huge cover up to the truth. He felt as if the house was a monster. That maybe if he could blame the house, it would somehow reverse his mother's car spiraling out of control exactly eight and on half nights ago, because of heavy and horrible rains. That maybe if he could simple punch the cracked shutters it would reverse his dad becoming addicted to alcohol. That if he could just be man enough to shatter the windows, he could un-shatter everyone's hearts and he wouldn't feel responsible for everything that happened. _

_Because he wasn't under any false securities in not being his fault, it was. If he had only done…well, he honestly couldn't remember what he hadn't done, just that he didn't do it and he deserved what was coming to him. If he could only turn back time and do it over again, he could show that he's sorry and make it better. Mom would be in the kitchen – pretending the bruise on her cheek was a misstep in her make-up applying abilities – making her meatloaf, and singing to herself. Dad would be at the barber shop, and he would make sure everything was perfect when he came home. He would keep Jared in his room occupied and not bothering him. _

_He would do it better! _

_But that was never coming to him. His wishes were only that…wishes. The painted wood front door was open, with only the screen closed. He could hear the sounds of Pops finishing whatever it was he was doing with Jared, and fought his natural instincts to go find out what it was. Pops wasn't going to hurt Jared. He told himself. But just like he promised himself exactly eight and one half nights ago, he wasn't going to fail his four year-old brother again. He would protect him if it meant his own life. _

"_See-leeey!" his brother's high-pitched squeal cut off his thoughts. He immediately looked to the little tyke barreling out of the screen and across the yard with his teddy boo-boo bear. Aunt Margaret had bought it for him when he "accidentally" fell down out of his booster seat six months ago. Now, he wouldn't go anywhere without it. _

"_Yeah, kiddo? Where's Pops, he comin'?" he answers, catching him mid awkward run with a faked smile, doing his best to look happy for his sake._

"_Yeah, Pops said we going bye-bye. Where we going, Seeley?" Jared asked innocently and allowing his big brother to pick him up._

"_Uhhh…" He pretended to think about it, "We are going far, far away. Where dragons and monsters are locked away forever!" He responds theatrically making Jared giggle when he swoops down to pick him up and make him fly. Jared continued to giggle hysterically when Seeley finally let him down. _

"_Yer silly, Seeley." He laughs. _

"_Yeah, I guess I am, bubba." He smiles. _

_Jared looks to be in deep thought for a minute and he began to wonder what was going on in that overactive mind of his. "Seeley? Are we ever coming back here?" he asks innocently._

_Booth thinks on that for a while, and shakes his head. "No, Jared. I don't want to ever come back here."_

_Jared seems surprised. "Never ever, no more?" _

_Booth gives a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah. Never ever, no more."*_

He makes a left and at a four way stop and feels his skin start to prickle in nerves. Two more turns. Just two more turns and he'll be back on that too familiar street. He fights hyperventilating and instead turns up the radio hoping it will settle him down.

"It's really nice of your aunt to open up her house like this." Bones says conversationally, glancing at him and noticing his paling face.

"Yeah, Aunt Margaret has always been like that." He replies stopping again at another red light with yet another long sigh.

"Are you okay, Booth?" she asks worriedly.

"Yeah, fine. Never better." If his voice higher was pitched than normal, it was nothing to be concerned about. Really, he was fine.

"Uh huh." She says in disbelief, squinting at him.

"Bones, I just…I love my aunt." He starts. With a glance her way he notices the confusion written on her face, and realizes how odd that must have sounded. "I love my aunt but her house and…stuff it just…" he pauses as he starts driving again, trying to collect his thoughts. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, even though I love my aunt, she has a lot of memories that go along with her that I would just prefer to forget."

She nods in understanding. "I can see how that would be so."

"And going back to her house after all these years…it's, I guess it's just a bit of sensory overload." He chuckles nervously as he nears the final turn, flipping the signal on.

She doesn't answer when he makes that too familiar left.

They move forward till they reach the very end house on the old street, sitting on a corner lot with a tire swing hanging from a low hung tree branch and lush green lawn. Booth parks the car on the side of the house and takes a deep breath. "Here goes nothing." He whispers and opens his car door.

Bones had repeated his action and soon they were trailing up to the front door.

Everything was how he remembered it. The lawn was still perfectly kept-up, the flowers were still perfectly in bloom, the front porch still had that same – now certainly peeling and faded – rocking porch swing, the windows still had the same colored window shutters…even the gnome in the garden was the same. It struck him how relieving that was. Maybe because Aunt Margaret had always been his constant, and knowing that she even kept her house the same meant sanctuary.

"Here are Angela and Hodgins." Bones interrupts his silent musings and gestures to Hodgins' shiny, black Audi Spyder coming down the road and parking next to his Toyota. He shakes his head as the two of them step out and start walking over, bickering over something.

"What?" Booth catches Jack asking, while taking off his designer shades and Angela rolls her eyes.

"As I've been telling you the entire ride, we should have driven something a little less flashy." She says turning annoyed eyes his way. "We don't want a lot of attention, Jack. This is about Booth, not you."

"I'm not making it about me!" He gripes and starts walking a little faster.

When they both reach Booth and Bones, the two looked extremely aggravated with one another. Bones smirked and looked at Booth who also seemed slightly peeved.

"You alright?" she asked him. He nodded at her and shook it off. If Hodgins wanted to shove his money in his aunt's face, he figured he could go for it. The Margaret he remembered would look at Hollywood stars the same way she looked at homeless people – everyone was equal in her eyes, it was very hard to impress her.

"Your aunt has a very adorable house, Booth." Angela said in a sincere tone. She stepped forward and admired it a little more. "There's just a homey charm to it. I wish there was a way to bottle it and give it to everyone."

"Thanks Angela." Booth said to her and gave a smile, before turning toward the direction of the front door.

The foursome ascended the steps in silence. Booth paused to take in a breath before knocking soundly twice. He didn't dare look behind him and see the curious eyes asking quiet questions for why he knocked in such a way. They wouldn't understand, and he didn't have the energy to explain.

The wood door opened first and then the screen, revealing Jared with an unreadable face. "Seeley." He said to him in greeting and turned to the other three, who all looked at him with differing expressions. Bones – suspicion and mild anger; Angela – anger all out; and Hodgins – unconcern. "Guys." He greeted and stepped aside to let them in the house.

Booth almost growled at Jared as soon as he saw him, but thought better of it. He had every intention of sitting his brother down to have a long chat soon; but now he was too tired. Both emotionally and physically. "Jared." He said instead with clearly recognizable coldness and stepped inside. He was suddenly assaulted with yet again everything being exactly the same. To his left was that same black and white picture of some woman he can't remember the name of. To his right was that same antique table still holding all the same trinkets he used to think were the coolest things in the world. Even the same silver plated letter opener sitting atop the display. He gulped.

_*"Aunt Margi, why do you have that small sword?" Booth had asked one afternoon, when he was only five._

_His aunt looked up from the coffee table where she had been setting lunch out for Seeley and her. She smiled tightly, nervous of how to answer that question. "It's not a sword, sweetie, it's called a letter opener."_

_Booth's eyebrows shot upward as he stared at his aunt in amazement. "Wow! It actually opens letters? So you don't get cuts on your fingers?" He was excited to hear of such a device, but then turned back to it and looked at all of the intricate carving on the blade and became confused. "But then why does it look like a sword? You know like…like one of those cool swords that those metal covered knights use on bad people?"_

_Margaret stepped forward and began leading her nephew towards the coffee table, biting her lip. "Well," she paused and avoided his quizzical eyes, "maybe" she brightened, "it's because then I know I have something to protect myself with, huh?"_

"_So it could kill the bad guys AND open letters?" Booth asked in wonder._

_She nodded her head vigorously. "Yeah, uh-huh, I guess so. Come on, let's go eat a PB&J, shall we?"_

"_Okay." He agreed with a sigh. He truly hated peanut butter, but never said so. It was the only thing they could really afford. A thought crossed his mind, however, and he added quietly, "Maybe one day I'll use that sword to protect someone?"*_

"Seeley?" Aunt Margaret's smooth, feminine voice brought him back to the present.

"Yeah Aunt Margi, it's me." Booth replied looking at her shuffling from the living room couch over to where he was standing. He smiled and didn't notice the looks he was receiving from his friends or his brother. He was lost in memory. It felt, while standing in that tiny foyer, like he had stepped into the past again. Like he was five , and had run to her house because his became so scary. And he was loathe to admit how many times in all those years he would run to her bleeding or really hurt, and she would have to perform her magical powers of making him better.

She had on one of her usual flowery dresses. Her make-up was simple just like he remembered. Margaret had always been a firm believer in loving what God gave you, and not covering it up with something as trivial as make-up. Her hair was a dark, smoky gray – obviously replacing her once midnight black; and her eyes were still that same fiery brown. She was exactly as he'd left her.

"My, my how you've grown, Sweetheart." She went on as he closed the small gap to not make her walk any further. "I remember when you were just knee high to a jack rabbit's butt!" She laughed out loud and Seeley turned red slightly but accepted the embrace she caught him in anyway. He took a deep breath and was nearly brought to tears by the fact that she even smelt the same.

Bones had been silent throughout everything up until that point. "Actually, a jack rabbit…"

Angela cut her off, "Figure of speech, Sweetie. Let it go." Bones looked at her annoyed, but slightly guilty and nodded her head.

"Oh dear Heavens, where are my manners?" Margaret pulled away from Booth, somewhat unsteadily and looked at the other three quarters of the foursome. "Seeley baby, these must be your friends! Hi, I'm Margaret Booth, but you are all very welcome to call me Aunt Margi."

"Hello there, Aunt Margi," Jack said first and smirked at Booth who looked uncomfortable with the term of endearment Margaret used. "I'm Dr. Jack Hodgins. You can call me, Jack. I work with your" he turned toward Booth with an absolutely evil smile, "_Seeley baby_ on our murder cases."

Booth scowled, then looked at Angela before looking back at Hodgins with an equally evil smile. "Yeah, Aunt Margi, _Hodgie"_ it was Jack's turn to scowl while Brennan and Angela looked nothing but amused, "here is an entomologist."

Aunt Margaret turned to Booth in dissatisfaction from rising to the bait, but shook it off. "Well it's nice to meet you, Jack."

"My name's Angela." Angela piped up and stepped forward with an outstretched hand and charming smile. "Angela Montenegro. No _"Doctor" _in front of it, I'm just his associate." A beat. "His associate, meaning I'm a forensic artist. And I do…" She glanced at Booth who motioned for her to continue, "facial reconstructions…of the dead peop – of the victims. Yes, I do facial reconstructions of the _victims._" She let out a nervous laugh as she let go of Margaret's hand and motioned for Brennan to save her from her rambling embarrassment.

Booth patted Angela's arm affectionately and she relaxed a little, neither noticing the daggers being sent from Hodgin's. Well, none but Jared who crossed his arms and smirked.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan, and I'm your nephew's partner."

"PARTNER?" She squeaked and spinned to slap Booth's arm. He yelped in shock. "Why the hell didn't you tell me, you had a partner? Seeley baby, am I that unimportant that I can't know when my nephew's finally seeing someone?"

Bones dropped her hand and looked at Booth in confusion. He had a faraway glint before shaking it off and saying as light heartedly as he could, "She's not that kind of partner, Auntie. She's my work partner." He chanced a glance Bones' way for help.

"I'm a forensic anthropologist. I help him ID victims, and catch their killers."

Margaret squinted in suspicion when Jared finally spoke up. "It's true Auntie. She's just his _work _partner." The stressing was not lost anyone besides Margaret. She nodded her head in acceptance.

"Well then, I apologize for my outburst." She turned away from everyone and began leading them through living room and to the wood paneled, rickety stairs. "I don't line in nothing but a split-level, so you all are gonna have to make do with sharing…"

Booth looked at Bones as they fell to the back of the line, vaguely hearing the grumbles coming from Jared when he found out he would have to share with Hodgins. He smiled slightly there. His aunt once again knew what he needed. Solitude. A room entirely to himself so he could think and piece himself together every morning before having to face another day.

"Your aunt is a lovely woman, Booth." Bones said quietly, afraid to look at him.

"Yeah, I know. She always knows what I need." He sounded reverent.

Bones stopped and her face became completely serious as she turned toward him. He stopped as well, letting the others go on ahead. "What do you need, Booth?" She asked, her voice heavy with emotion.

He let his eyes flick around her face, cautioning himself for a trick but found none. There was so much he wanted to say to that – so much he wished he could say to her, yet knew was against the promise he'd made to leave that possibility be – but he had no words other than, "_Sanctuary._" He said in a breath, his eyes getting watery. It was the best word for it, really. What he really needed was for Bones to hold him like he's had to for her, and tell him everything's fine. Even though he knows as well as she does that it's the furthest thing from fine. That everything was stacking up against him like shit in a garbage dump, but while close within her arms, he could pretend it wasn't there. That it didnt matter. But no he wasn't going to get that. Bones wouln'd - well according to her _couldn't _love him that way. The way he needs and wants her to. So until then, the best he could wish for was..."A Sanctuary…and…peace. I would love to finally have _peace_." He nodded his head once in an attempt to look resolute and turned back around to follow the other s up the stairs.


End file.
